“The Lady Custance is made of flesh and blood, trust me. An’ thou hadst had need to bear her to her bed, kicking and striving all the way, when she was somewhat lesser than now, thou shouldst be little tempted to count her immortal.”
“An’ it like you, Mistress Alvena—”
“Marry, Master Thurstan, it liketh me right well to see thee back without the peltry wherefor I sent thee! Where hast loitered, thou knave?”
“Master Adam saith he is unfurnished at this time of the peltry you would have, Mistress, and without fox will serve your turn—”
“Fox me no fox, as thou set store by thy golden locks!” said Alvena, advancing towards the luckless Thurstan in a threatening attitude, with the scissors open in her hand. “I’ll fox him, and thee likewise. Go and bring me the four ells of peltry of beasts ermines, and that of the best, or thou shalt wake up to-morrow to find thy poll as clean as the end of thine ugsome (ugly) nose.”
Poor Thurstan, who was only a child of about ten years old, mistook Alvena’s jesting for earnest, and began to sob.
“But what can I, Mistress?” urged the terrified urchin. “Master Adam saith he hath never a nail thereof, never name an ell.”
“Alvena, trouble not the child,” interposed Sybil.
But Sybil’s gentle intercession would have availed little if it had not been seconded by the unexpected appearance of the only person whom Alvena feared.
“What is this?” inquired Doña Juana, in a tone of authority.